Wild Birds
by dumbest of four
Summary: Set in the 1920's, this story revolves around Lady Brittany Abrams... full summary inside, M-rated for mature content and sexual contact in futuristic chapters. Brittana AU.
1. Prologue

**A/N: This is my first Brittana work of fiction, but certainly not my first work of fiction… it's my second so hahaha.**

**as I have noticed with these types of stories Santana gets to be this powerful woman who is charmed by the modest Brittany. Well, I tried to do something different here… but Santana is powerful in her role here but in her own way, and that goes for Brittany as well.**

**I don't want to give too much away so I'll stop type-digressing right now, so yeah this is a little taste before the whole cake, it's the summary and prologue, I just want to get a reaction so I can decide whether this story will be worth an effort or just wasting my time. **

**Disclaimer: Do not own Glee nor its characters.**

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><p><strong>Synopsis:<strong>

Set in the 1920's, this story revolves around Lady Brittany Abrams, whose upper-class husband Arthur Abrams has been paralyzed and rendered impotent, his aloof demeanor towards his wife drove Brittany into furthering herself into depression, but after a seemingly unpretentious gardener had been hired by her husband; she finds herself fighting against the beautiful freedom of the mind and body, but will she win or will she cave?

**Prologue -**

Lady Brittany Abrams, A curvaceous country-looking girl scarcely reaching her twenty years of age with long blonde hair arranged keenly under the hat she wore, her movements filled with grace and unusual energy, feline-like Eyes of Oceanic shade always wide and wondering and a soft mild voice, anyone who would've met her would think she was a gentle pushover by the natural compassionate and naïve demeanor that radiated off her, although it was not so at all.

Her father was the once known R.A, Old Sir Henry Pierce. Her mother had been one the cultivated Fabians in the Palmy.

Between Artists and cultured socialists, Brittany had had what might be called an aesthetically unconventional upbringing, she had been taken to various parts of Europe to breathe in art, to great socialist conventions where speakers spoke in every civilized tongue and no one was abashed.

The girl, therefore, was from an early age not the least daunted by either art or ideal politics. It was her natural atmosphere.

Her interest was mainly in music among other things, as well as dancing. Brittany loved to live freely, loved to argue with men on philosophical, sociological and artistic matters, she was just as good as the men themselves: if not better, since she was a woman.

Brittany had her fair share of love affairs, the young artistic men whom they talked so passionately and lustily to her. Of course if the love was there, sure she was doubtful of.

But then the thing was so much talked about, it was supposed to be so important.

Peer pressure or not, she had done it with whom she had arguments with, the discussions were the great thing: the love making or lack of thereof was something she was willing to condone.

She was less in love with the boy afterwards, and a little inclined to hate him. As if he trespassed in on her privacy, her inner freedom.

And however one might sentimentalize it this sex business was only glorified by poets who were mostly men. Women had always known there was something better, something higher. And soon she'll know it more than ever.

And it comes in an unexpected form, one that is named Santana Lopez.

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><p><strong>AN: I know it's very inconveniently short, but this is just a sample… the beginning. I promise you if I get a mostly positive feedback mixed with constructive criticism (if needed), I will be posting the first chapter quicker than lightning. **

**I just want to add also, that you'll see numerous pairings in this story which consist of, Brittana(of course), Bartie(only hinted), Faberry(you'll see), Kum, Puckcedes… among probable others. **

**(I just want to point out, I don't hate Artie… I like him as a character, and I don't mean to offend any Bartie fan out there, as well as Klaine fans.)**

**With that said and done, please do review. **

**Thanks in advance~ **


	2. And A Woman Had To Yield

**A/N: Hello again, so I have decided to post the first chapter, Thank you for your reviews by the way it was apperciated it. **

**I'm kind of anxious for your reaction, because this is the first I have made an effort to do various researches before creating this work of fiction. **

**but I hope you enjoy nonetheless. **

**Disclaimer: Do not own Glee nor its Characters. **

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><p><strong>- Chapter 1 -<strong>

The place was burning, had been burning for years, the heat no one could've put it out. So it had to burn. And when the wind was that way, which was often, the villa was full of humidity, of this combustion of moistures caused by the ocean's tides. But even on windless days the air always smelt of something damp under-earth. And even on the Christmas roses the mugginess settled persistently, incredible, like a black heat wave from the skies of doom.

Well, there it was: fated like the rest of things, it was rather awful, but why kick? You couldn't kick it away. It just went on. Life, like all the rest! On the low dark ceiling of cloud at night red blotches burned and quavered, dappling and swelling and contracting, like burns that give pain! As if they were living near colossal furnaces.

At first it fascinated Brittany with a sort of horror; she felt she was living underground. Then she got used to it. And in the morning it did not better.

Arthur professed to like this place better than Europe; after all everyone thought California was the place to go.

This country had a grim will of its own, and the people had guts. Brittany wondered what else they had: certainly neither eyes nor minds. The people were as haggard, shapeless, and dreary as the countryside, and as unfriendly. Only their artificial frames could've fooled otherwise.

Brittany had woken from her slumber, she had long forgotten what was known to be the comforts of resting; she was always quite restless at night. It often left her tossing and turning, almost as if the mattress was made out of splintering rocks, she would sit on the sill of her window, looking out at the bitter naught...

A sudden knock on her bedroom door shook her off from her musings; she sat up abruptly from the ruffled mattress to be met with her usual ruddy haired servant.

"Good Morning your ladyship." With a slight curtsy, the green eyed maid went to open the large curtains that hid Brittany from the rest of this ambiguous world, once opened and the forceful rays of the sun pinched the blue eyes of the woman still lying in her bed, she couldn't help but cringe.

"Sir Abrams was wondering if you would like to accompany him to the Hudson's, for they have invited you to join them for brunch. I will prepare your bath straightaway if so." The ginger haired maid had always appeared anxious, with her quick and subtle movements and her darting eyes going everywhere and nowhere. Brittany wasn't bothered by her in the slightest she had been an excellent servant for the past few years she had been living here.

"Certainly, Inform Arthur of my approval." Brittany lifted the heavy sheets from her marginally clammy form and stood up while her servant dressed her in her usual light azure robe.

"It will be done, your ladyship." The maid turned to face her mistress, planning to bow and tend to the matters of the villa. She was stopped shortly when she heard her mistress's voice.

"Thank you Emma and please how many times I have to tell to call me by my given name?" Brittany displayed her gorgeous bright smile, something she got praised for quite often.

"My apologies Mistress," Emma looked remorsefully at the fair-haired woman, "I cannot disobey Sir Abrams rules in his own home."

"It is my home as well, is it not?"

The servant looked balled up, as if a discomfort in her thoughts was consuming her, Brittany had sensed it and decided to spare this poor dame and let her alone.

As a social figure, Brittany had never thought people would learn to fear her, nor her husband. She was kind to everyone and had expected others to give the same warmth she seeped of.

There was no communication between the Abrams villa and the outside world, none. No caps were touched, no curtseys bobbed. The locals merely stared; the tradesmen lifted their caps to Brittany as to an acquaintance, and nodded awkwardly to Arthur; that was all, And a quiet sort of resentment on either side.

At first Brittany suffered from the steady drizzle of resentment that came from the town. Then she hardened herself to it, and it became a sort of tonic, something to live up to. It was not that she and Arthur were unpopular, they merely belonged to another species altogether from the locals. Across which no communication could take place.

You stick to your side, I'll stick to mine! A strange denial of the common pulse of humanity, yet the town sympathized with Arthur and Brittany in the abstract. In the flesh it was—you leave me alone!—on either side.

Yet fair-haired blonde had tried to make friendships among the local's wives.

But this stubborn, instinctive—we think ourselves as good as you, if you ARE Lady Abrams!—puzzled and baffled Brittany at first extremely. The curious, suspicious, false amiability with which the locals' wives met her overtures; the curiously offensive tinge of—Oh dear me! I AM somebody now, with Lady Abrams talking to me! But she needn't think I'm not as good as her for all that!—which she always heard twanging in the women's half-fawning voices, was impossible. There was no getting past it. It was hopelessly and offensively nonconformist.

Arthur left them alone, and she learnt to do the same: she just went by without looking at them, and they stared as if she were a walking wax figure. When he had to deal with them, Arthur was rather haughty and contemptuous; one could no longer afford to be friendly. In fact he was altogether rather supercilious and contemptuous of anyone not in his own class. He stood his ground, without any attempt at conciliation. And he was neither liked nor disliked by the people: he was just part of things.

_xxxxxxxxxx_

But Arthur was really extremely shy and self-conscious now he was lamed. He hated seeing anyone except just the personal servants.

For he had to sit in a wheeled chair or a sort of bath-chair, Nevertheless he was just as carefully dressed as ever, by his expensive tailors, and he wore the careful Bond Street neckties just as before, he looked just as smart and impressive as ever from the top of the stairs where his wife stood modeling an expensive dress that hugged her wondrous physique, the hemlines reaching the knees of her slender gams, with her long soft hair neatly hidden by the fashionable hat that was placed upon head, and hands covered by a set of delicate gloves made by the finest of silk.

Brittany and he were attached to one another, in the aloof modern way.

He was much too hurt in himself, the great shock of his maiming, to be easy and flippant. He was a hurt thing. And as such Brittany stuck to him passionately.

But she could not help feeling how little connection he really had with people. The locals were, in a sense, his own men; but he saw them as objects rather than men, parts of the pit rather than parts of life, crude raw phenomena rather than human beings along with him.

He was in some way afraid of them; he could not bear to have them look at him now he was lame. And their queer, crude life seemed as unnatural as that of hedgehogs.

He was remotely interested; but like a man looking down a microscope, or up a telescope. He was not in touch. He was not in actual touch with anybody, save, traditionally, through the close bond of family defense, with personal servants. Beyond this nothing really touched him. Brittany felt that she herself didn't really, not really touch him; perhaps there was nothing to get at ultimately; just a negation of human contact.

Yet he was absolutely dependent on her, he needed her every moment. Big and strong as he was, he was helpless.

"You ready? Let me get Noah to start off the automobile, so we can depart soon." The auburn haired man was about to wheel himself out, when his wife halted his movements, she presented an offer that might as well hadn't been said.

"You don't have to bother yourself, I will go get him."

"I can manage just fine, Brittany." His coarse voice came through gritted teeth, which made his wife's frown to surge; she had only meant to ease his tension she did not mean to cause it to excavate.

"Artie, I didn't mean to-" her apologetic tone was cut by his own bristly one.

"Do not call me that, I'm not your pet."

After that, silence between the married couple had ensued, until Arthur started to wheel himself out the previously unlocked entrance.

He could wheel himself about in a wheeled chair, and he had a sort of bath-chair with a motor attachment, in which he could puff slowly round the park. But alone he was like a lost thing. He needed Brittany to be there, to assure him he existed at all, he never would've admitted it to her face.

Still he was ambitious. He had taken to writing stories; curious, very personal stories about people he had known.

Clever, rather spiteful, and yet, in some mysterious way, meaningless.

The observation was extraordinary and peculiar, but there was no touch, no actual contact. It was as if the whole thing took place in a void. And since the field of life is largely an artificially-lighted stage today, the stories were curiously true to modern life, to the modern psychology, that is.

Arthur was almost morbidly sensitive about these stories. He wanted everyone to think them good, of the best,

They appeared in the most modern magazines, and were praised and blamed as usual. But to Arthur the blame was torture, like knives goading him. It was as if the whole of his being were in his stories.

Brittany helped him as much as she could. At first she was thrilled. She never passed an opportunity where she could argue and converse, with her husband nonetheless He talked everything over with her monotonously, insistently, persistently, and she had to respond with all her might. It was as if her whole soul and body had to rouse up and pass into theme stories of his.

But soon enough he had stopped to call for her, he would lock himself in the villa's library and stayed there for hours, if not for days. And with time Brittany became solely miserable in her loneness, if it were not for their loyal housekeepers Noah Puckerman and his wife Mercedes who were willing to socialize with her in an informal manner when Arthur was out or enclosed in the library, if it weren't for them she wouldn't have known what to do all by herself.

But soon in enough Arthur came out of his bizarre frame one day and introduced her to the Hudson's, Sir Finn Hudson was a wealthy heir who was a bit dim but a very lovable person in general, he have had several work related affairs with Arthur, ever since they've met they became the closest of friends.

Perhaps they're each other's only friends.

No man had liked to associate with them, because they never knew where to stand with such powerful men, everyone feared them greatly, and most men would seek them to either raise their own financial status or to secure a job.

Brittany on the other hand has met Lady Rachel Hudson, Finn's Wife. She was a chirpy little thing, loud and enthusiastic, traits that Brittany mostly needed in her friends.

She genuinely liked the brunette woman, for she have shared her same ambition in art and music, if not more so. Rachel was very much involved in the theater, and she had done various local musicals, she was recognized as a star across the town.

Brittany adored Rachel's singing, for she had performed countless times whenever there was a party at the Hudson's, she preferably enjoyed the songs Rachel has wrote originally.

_xxxxxxxxxxx_

"Good Morning, yer Ladyship" a fine young man barely reaching Brittany's age greeted the blonde with a bow, he was wearing a black shirt and a pair of white breeches his hair was short, inconveniently short for Brittany's liking when his face was shown again he was sporting a charming smile, pearly teeth reflecting the strong sunshine.

"Good morning to you as well, Noah" Brittany had adorned a knowing smirk on her refined features, Noah was a playful lad, she enjoyed his and his wife's company, there was never a dull moment.

"Unfortunately ya Ladyship, ye oughtta bear a ride with me… for yer usual driver Dave had been sent on a minor mission." He was tugging on his grey cap, while mockingly reaching his hand placing it on his heart.

Brittany fought a chortle back, fearing her yet to be aware Husband's reaction who was conversing with one of the maids about trivial tasks.

"Oh and here I was all eager to have a ball with Dave, now I'm stuck with you." Brittany pouted mockingly, making the boy chuckle deeply.

Soon enough the banter was halted for Arthur had joined them, ordering Noah to busy himself.

_xxxxxxxxxxx_

After the short ride between the busy streets of the town, they arrived at the impressive view that was the Hudson's home, they had come to visit the Hudson's countless times, but one can't help to be mesmerized by the structural beauty; before the house laid what seemed to be endless grasslands, that reached the large white bastion, sure the Abrams home was impressive as well with its clever structure and the mystical woods that lay behind it, was only a part of the appeal.

Pulling up the automobile's engine to a stop, Noah had rushed to open Brittany's door and then later helping Arthur out of the seat to his wheelchair.

After thanking Noah, Brittany and Arthur turned towards the massive home and made their way to the entrance. The blond wanted to help her husband with the wheelchair but she knew he would shrug her off once she tried; When Arthur gets upset with her it usually lasts for days.

So she found herself ringing the bell of the huge doors, to only be met by a beaming Finn welcoming them, Finn was a slightly large man, his face bewhiskered, masculine and handsome, he was adorning a fashionable black suit looking groomed and sheik.

He offered a slight bow to the fair-haired woman and continued to greet his friend.

Looking about the entrance, Brittany stepped foot inside the large house, only to be met by a crushing hug from the little one who was wearing a delicate sun-dress that reached her knees, her hair up trendily in bun, while few strands of her auburn hair framed her bright features.

Rachel had never really followed tradition like most women have done in this society; she simply took life in a stride, For she and Brittany had adopted the standard of the young: what there was in the moment was everything. And moments followed one another without necessarily belonging to one another.

"Brittany! How splendid to see you! Come now I have someone I would like you to meet."

And before she could've get a reaction, Brittany was dragged into the large living-room to be met by two figures sitting calmly at the elegant sofa.

One was a man, he had childlike features, and his hair was pulled back neatly, he wore a white suit looking fittingly swell on him, when he noticed Brittany he gave her once over glance and then offered a smile, though the strange thing was that his leering was not lustful one as a man would give, as if this boy had no desire for her body, it was strange but comforting.

The other one was a woman of a delicate frame, her eyes followed the smoke fleeting from ruby lips, as she held the thin cigar on the tip of her fingers, her darker shade of blond hair was in a short bob, covered by a silver hat, she wore a black straight silhouette, she gave a look that presented her as cynical and detached.

Something you don't see in women in this day and age, her mannerism intrigued Brittany to no end, what have this woman went through to have this independent aura about her, what have those amber eyes seen? Brittany wondered.

Lastly Brittany brought her wandering eyes to the woman's features to only to be met by a scorching fire, those eyes staring her down, as if she knew of her thoughts, a smirk adorned her expression.

"Brittany this is Lucy Fabray, Lucy this is Brittany Abrams the good friend I told you of" The woman stood elegantly swaying her hips while she made her way to stand closely across the blond.

"Don't bother with Rachel, you can call me Quinn" the woman offered her hand and Brittany stared at it looking muddled.

"Wait a moment, so are you Lucy or are you Quinn?" Brittany asked.

"Both truly, Lucy is my given name and Quinn is my middle name… I just hate the name Lucy, it does not speak to me, but Rachel insists on calling me that" the woman who wanted to be recognized by the name Quinn, shrugged slightly and gave a relaxed smile.

"But I like the name Lucy, I think it suits you just swell." Rachel declared dramatically which made the hazel eyed blond roll her eyes unimpressed.

Avoiding the bickering friends, her eyes settled on the young man that still sat on the couch looking at his outfit, while calmly sipping his glass.

"Oh how improper of me, I forgot to introduce you to Kurt, Brittany this is Kurt Hummel, Finn's younger step-brother and a longtime friend of Quinn's."

The blond offered a smile and he returned it while presenting his hand in a formal shake, men had never shaken her hand before. It was an awkward sensation.

"Hello Brittany, how nice to meet you." He declared with his voice quite innocent, almost feminine.

"Now now children, let's not dwell on first impressions and join the boys in the dining room I'm sure they're waiting for us, let's not keep them waiting." The hazel eyed woman pulled on Rachel's arm while holding down Brittany's gaze; she had never felt more obdurate in the presence of a woman before, it was discouragingly unusual for the blue-eyed woman.

_xxxxxxxxxxxxx_

After what seemed like an endless meal of refined nourishment, they all have settled down outside on the grassy field by the pool, Finn and Arthur were conversing among themselves, while Brittany, Rachel, Quinn and Kurt sat around the table talking about various trivial things, well mostly Rachel did the talking and Kurt remarked.

Brittany found herself sitting just beside the mysterious blond, while Rachel and Kurt were thrown into their own world, she sensed that she was eying her, she just knew it, she turned her face to be only proven right.

"So Um, Is Kurt your beau?" asked a wondering Brittany, to be merely met by a loud laughter from the blond near her.

"Oh no child, I am not his type, nor he's mine."

"What do you mean? Why wouldn't he desire a woman such as yourself?" Brittany could've slapped her own cheek, when she realized that she had complimented a woman on her attractiveness.

Quinn never faltered; she offered a smile and leaned forward.

"You see, it is not about my appeal to the eyes of the man, he likes women but he doesn't love them, he prefers the company of men." Quinn's smile grew wider as well as Brittany's eyes.

"You mean he's a homos-"

"Sexual, yes. And if you have problem with that then I couldn't care less." They were whispering amongst themselves so the other parties won't overhear.

"In the matter of fact, this is not unusual for me, I have lived almost whole my youth in Europe.."

"You have?" the short haired blond seemed intrigued by this and leaned forward.

"Yes, I have encountered many artists that were **that** way, and I admired their ambition and their artistic intelligence, so I'll say I have nothing against it."

Those hazel eyes searched her own, like she was investigating a case of a false frame, but she found none, the blond was being sincere, she always had been.

Shortly after their little chat, the men had joined them on the table and started talking all-together; they were discussing politics and sociological matters that fascinated Brittany.

"… There might even be real men, in the next phase," said Arthur. "Real, intelligent, wholesome men, and wholesome nice women! Wouldn't that be a change, an enormous change from us? WE'RE not men, and the women aren't women. We're only cerebrating make-shifts, mechanical and intellectual experiments. There may even come a civilization of genuine men and women, instead of our little lot of clever-jacks, all at the intelligence-age of seven. It would be even more amazing than men of smoke or babies in bottles."

They were caught in heated discussion about the generation, this generation in particular.

"Oh, when men begin to talk about real women, I give up," said Quinn in an ever so sarcastic tone of voice. Which helplessly caused the flaxen woman sitting beside her giggle but Quinn continued "Men would hate women no matter what they do, a woman wouldn't let a man have her, and he'll hate her and when a women does, he'll hate her anyway for some unjustified reason," the short haired woman narrowed her eyes, "but a woman had to yield. A man was like a child with his appetites." She paused,

"A woman had to yield him what he wanted, or like a child he would probably turn nasty and flounce away and spoil what was a very pleasant connection." She turned her gaze to blond near her "But a woman could yield to a man without yielding her inner, free self. That the poets and talkers about sex did not seem to have taken sufficiently into account. A woman could take a man without really giving herself away. Certainly she could take him without giving herself into his power. She could manipulate him as if he was merely her tool."

A fleeting silence overcame the group of people huddled around the table.

"Certainly nothing but the spirit in us are worth having, the body is just a shield, a pathetic shield might I say" Remarked Brittany after the tension had worn down.

Everyone observed her, but Arthur chose not to he was too furious, too tired of these people who thought of as friends, to deal with his wife. He wanted to return to his home, his room alone.

"I think Lady Abrams has an excellent point." Declared the amber eyed woman to only receive a genuine smile from the blond, Brittany certainly known by now that she liked Quinn she was a woman who never took her freedom for granted and she never hesitated to speak her thoughts, the short haired blond reminded Brittany of herself when she was younger before she was forced to become Mrs. Arthur Abrams.

_xxxxxxxxx_

Conversing with Lady Fabray was something Brittany had needed for a long time now, someone who was perfect at the social sport of coolly holding her own, and making other people defer to her.

She was kind to Brittany, and tried to worm into her woman's soul with the sharp gimlet of her well-born observations.

"You're quite wonderful, in my opinion," she said to Brittany.

"You've done wonders for yourself. I never saw any budding genius myself, and there you are, all the rage." Lady Fabray had not acknowledged of Arthur's success. She didn't care a straw about his books, but why should she?

"Oh, I don't think I've achieved that much," said Brittany.

"How? Look at the way you are shut up here. I said to Arthur: If that dame rebels one day you'll have yourself to blame!"

"But Arthur never denies me anything," said Brittany.

"Look here, dear child"—and Lady Fabray laid her thin hand on Brittany's arm.

"A woman has to live her life or live to repent not having lived it. Believe me!" And she took another sip of brandy, which maybe was her form of Repentance.

"But I do live my life, don't I?"

"Not in my idea! Arthur should bring you back to Europe, and let you go about. His sorts of friends are all right for him but what are they for you? If I were you I should think it wasn't good enough. You'll let your youth slip by, and you'll spend your old age and your middle age too, repenting it."

Her ladyship lapsed into contemplative silence, soothed by the brandy.

But Brittany was not keen on going back to Europe at the moment, and being steered into the smart world. She didn't feel really smart.

"Why don't you attend the party I'm throwing Saturday evening, it is going to be full of people that would be pleased to converse with you, culturists, artists… something that you're quite familiar with." A smile was dancing in the flapper's observing hazel eyes.

"I'll have to discuss it with Arthur."

_xxxxxxxxx_

Once on the ride from their friends' home, Arthur and Brittany sat in a bridged silence, not a calm one as well.

"Arthur, Lady Fabray had invited me to attend the party she is throwing in her home Saturday evening, it is said that many artists are going to attend-"

"A flapper's party, where ossified men and women conjoin to do the abnormal, spare me from this bull, Brittany." He sighed and gazed out the window and onto the moving scenery.

Brittany was furious but kept her ease, she didn't want to overreact, "Arthur you know I'm not attending for any of those things, I'm a social person. You can't keep me caged forever"

"caged? Caged? All I'm trying to do is protect you, you don't know anything of those people, you let people take advantage of your kindness and I won't let it happen with some drunken lounge lizard."

"Oh I know what this is about, you're jealous?"

"OF COURSE I am, all those men have the very thing I cannot provide for you, and it kills me." Brittany couldn't help but sympathize with her husband, she reached her hand to lay it upon his shaken one, but he pulled away quickly as if her skin was made of the pits of flame.

"Arthur, I do not care about those things, you know that… I'd rather have a million conversations with you, than letting a strange man have me."

Arthur gazed at his wife. confusion ripping at him, finally he released a sigh of defeat and nodding his head in a sign of approval in her attending the Fabray party.

Brittany's smile lit up at once and without thinking she embraced her husband first time in months now,

"Thank you, Artie!"

Her husband sat stiffly not knowing what do with his hands; it has been so long since he felt his wife's soft skin against his own.

After letting him go at once, she sat there beaming thinking about her impatient enthusiasm to meet Quinn's fascinating friends,

"Oh I've almost forgotten, Finn informed me of this little mission he sent our Driver Dave to, apparently he bought us a gardener, one of the best as he says, claiming that our gardens needed tending, I will never understand this man's obsession with gardens, it is something so ridiculous."

Brittany has heard her husband but she was too caught up in her thoughts that she hadn't understood what he had declared.

_xxxxxxxxxx_

Returning home, Noah helped Arthur wheel himself into the villa, but before he could inter he looked back at his wife who was following slightly behind.

"Why don't you go greet the gardener, I'm sure he took the old cottage near the woods? Being a social person and all that jazz" Arthur gazed upon his wife with mirth. His wife caught quickly on his antics and decided to play along.

"Oh yes certainly, I won't be gone for long." She winked at him and soon she disappeared into the back yard.

When neared the woods just behind their Villa, all the land had belonged to Herbert Abrams, Arthur's father who had been taken by an illness that could not be cured and now he was residing in the one of those new healing places they called hospitals these days.

The land was large full of pine trees. Near the pond there sat a cottage the old gardener used to reside in, but shortly after he disappeared nobody bothered to hire another.

She went round the side of the cottage. Till she reached the back of it the land rose steeply, so the back yard was sunken, and enclosed by a low stone wall. She turned the corner of the house and stopped.

In the little yard two paces beyond her, a woman was washing herself, utterly unaware. She was naked to her hips, her velveteen breeches slipping down over her slender loins. And her sun-skinned slim back was curved over a big bowl of soapy water, in which she ducked her head, shaking her prefect glossy hair with a sensual motion, lifting her slender tanned arms, and pressing the soapy water from her dark locks, slow, subtle as a mystical creature enjoying the water, And utterly alone.

Brittany backed away round the corner of the house, and hurried away to the wood. In spite of herself, she had had a shock. After all, merely a woman washing herself,

Commonplace enough, Heaven knows!

Yet in some curious way it was a visionary experience: it had hit her in the middle of the body. She saw the clumsy breeches slipping down over the pure, delicate, tanned waste, the brawny bottom showing a little, and the sense of aloneness, of a creature purely alone, overwhelmed her.

Perfect, brunette, solitary nudity of a creature that lives alone, and inwardly alone.

And beyond that, a certain beauty of a pure creature, Not the stuff of beauty, not even the body of beauty, but a lambency, the warm, white flame of a single life, revealing itself in contours that one might touch: a body!

Brittany had received the shock of vision in between her legs, and she knew it; it lay inside her. But with her mind she was inclined to ridicule.

A woman washing herself in a back yard!

No doubt with evil-smelling yellow soap! Brittany was rather annoyed; why should she be made to stumble on these vulgar Privacies?

So she walked away from herself, but after a while she sat down on a stump.

She was too confused to think. But in the coil of her confusion, she wondered;

'Who was the exotically striking woman? Is she the gardener? Arthur hadn't mentioned that it was a woman… a foreigner to be exact, a young one with a curvaceous yet sturdy back, with soft dark hair, that fell slightly beneath her shoulder blades, she hadn't seen the woman's face yet, but she was sure the woman would of no doubt be beautiful.'

Brittany paused in her thoughts as she came into a realization that she was daydreaming, about a woman, no less.

"Yer Ladyship," she turned abruptly towards the voice and sees Noah approaching hurriedly "Sir Arthur had asked for ya, he says it's urgent."

_To Be Continued... _

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><p><strong>AN**: **So I knew this is not perfect, but I'm perfectly ok with that... haha, so yeah Brittany seems Ooc, but that's only because in her current life she's not being herself either, hopefully once Santana enters fully and not only her sexy soaked back, you'll see the change. **

**oh and the spelling errors in Puck's speech were intended to emphasize the accent, so what do you think about Flapper Quinn and Flaming Youth Kurt? if you're not familiar with the terms here's an explanation;**

**Flappers- _1920's Young women rebelled against the old matriarchs and cut their hair short and hiked up their hem lines and painted their faces in the spirit of their new found freedom sparked by economic wealth and new political rights. The flappers male counterpart was known as the Flaming Youth. Both decadent party goers demanded the access to the liquors that were accessible to the very well connected and thus a demand that had never really vanished increased. _**

**review? please. **

**oh and I'm very grateful that people are following my story, enjoy this chapter! **

**thank you! **


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